Stays in the Family
by AgiVega
Summary: The Waterloo victory has demanded sacrifices from everyone - from some their lives, from some their health, from some their self-esteem. But, as they say, life goes on...


**A/N: **apparently I can't stop writing Temeraire fics… but I hope you don't mind. ;)

Btw, yesterday I watched _Mutiny on the Bounty_ (the 1962 version) and thought that Novik must have seen it, for it seems to me that she has completely based Laurence's character on that of Fletcher Christian, the master's mate of the _Bounty_. Be sure to watch that movie if you can, you will see what I mean. :)

**Disclaimer:** it's all Novik's. And we all envy her for that.

Much thanks to Michael for the beta!

**Stays In the Family**

_Covert of Dover, 18th August, 1815_

It had been four years since they had received orders from her mother to return to England and help defeat Napoleon. As Jane Roland had put it in her letter that Laurence had showed Emily, _'…even Wellesley admits, albeit sourly, that the only dragon capable of keeping Bonaparte's Celestial in check is Temeraire. The amount of damage that wretched white beast has caused us – and the whole of Europe – is too much to shut an eye to. Neither Wellesley nor I are taken with the idea of your return – and you can expect to be transported back to Australia right away once the war is over – but we have no other choice. With a considerable part of our forces engaged in the war in America and every goddamn coalition we have formed with other nations falling apart, we are more vulnerable than we would like to admit. But, to be frank, I am fed up with pretence and quite willing to acknowledge that we are in dire need of our Celestial.'_

Over three years had passed since they had arrived back in Europe and fought in every possible way and at every possible opportunity against Napoleon.

It had been almost two years since Temeraire and his crew, as the only Britons to take part in the Battle of the Nations at Leipzig, had helped defeat the French Emperor – a defeat that had eventually resulted in Napoleon's banishment to the isle of Elba. Temeraire had, naturally, considered his success at defeating Lien a much greater triumph than Bonaparte's defeat and exile, and not even the prospect of having to return to Australia had lowered his spirits.

It had been a year since Admiral Roland had given them permission to stay in England for a 'short while' to make sure Iskierka would have another egg by Temeraire, which, instead of a 'short while' had taken the two dragons over half a year to manage. Emily suspected they had deliberately taken so long and had probably only faked mating at the beginning in order to prolong Laurence and Temeraire's stay in England. She was sure if that had been the case, Laurence was completely unaware of it. Her captain, as honest as he had always been, would never have come up with a devious plan such as this, but she would not put it past Temeraire.

Seven months had passed since the news of Napoleon's return from Elba had reached their ears, and Temeraire, once again needed for fighting, had been allowed to stay for an extended period of time.

It had been exactly two months since the battle of Waterloo and Bonaparte's final defeat – two months since Temeraire and Laurence had saved Wellesley and through Wellesley saved the day; two months since Emily had seen Excidium fall with her mother and the whole crew on his back; two months since she had watched her mother's lifeless body carried away from the battlefield and Laurence lying sprawled on the grass, looking equally lifeless. Two months had passed since she had felt on her chapped lips the saltiness of tears and blood running down her face as Temeraire had gently scooped up their captain and let out a soft, keening sound, and not until they had returned from Waterloo to Dover, a several hours' flight, had she realised the seriousness of her own injuries.

She had spent the week following the battle drifting in and out of consciousness, the left side of her face burning as though someone had constantly kept a hot poker against her skin. She had even missed her mother's funeral, and at her few conscious moments her only thoughts had been of her captain, who, unlike her mother, might still be alive. But whenever she had tried to ask after him, the nurses had shushed her and given her something to drink which had sent her back into the welcoming arms of unconsciousness.

Now, standing at the edge of Temeraire's clearing and watching the dragon's side gently rise and fall as he slept, Emily could not help but wish she were still unconscious, that she had never awoken, but at the same time she chastised herself for being so selfish. She knew she should be grateful that she had survived, that they had won and finally granted England a blessed period of peace, but the price they had paid had been too great to let her feel happy and contented. She had lost her mother and Excidium, and with them, the prospect of ever becoming a captain… and she had lost something else as well.

Her eyes fell upon the basin used for storing water for Temeraire, and the reflection that stared back at her made her heart wrench. Sniffing, she noted to herself how wise it had been of her to remove the mirror from her room.

Something stirred behind her, but she did not care to look, suspecting it to be a smaller dragon, judging by the slow and heavy steps, but she was forced to turn around as someone spoke up in a wheezy voice, "You know he is going to be yours… don't you?"

As she spun around, her eyes met the serene, tired blue eyes of her captain, shining from a face much more wrinkled than it should have been at the age of forty-one. His back was slightly bent as he propped himself on crutches, and his greyish blond hair had come loose from the queue, probably in his effort to walk – if his hobbling could be called walking at all.

Had it been someone else, she might have found it hilarious that she had mistaken his sluggish steps for that of a light-weight dragon, but as she sized him up, she found there was nothing hilarious about him.

Had it been someone else propped on crutches, she might have even found him pathetic, but him being _him_, she could not. Laurence, despite his physical disability and slightly ruffled appearance, still managed to look imposing and aristocratic.

"Mine?" Emily's eyes widened as she finally comprehended the words she had just heard. "What do you mean…?" She glanced at the slumbering Temeraire, then back at Laurence. "Sir…?"

"Excidium is dead," he replied, his voice still coming in little gasps after the exertion of walking, "and you are my first lieutenant, Emily… there is no one else to whom I would more gladly trust Temeraire…"

"But… but… you will surely heal…?"

He cast a sour glance at his left leg, "I am sorry to disappoint. I fear I will never be able to walk properly again, let alone climb up and down a harness, especially in the middle of a battle… I am useless as a captain."

Emily's eyes filled with tears. "Pray don't talk like that!"

He drew himself up as much as he could while having to prop himself on crutches, and managed a small smile. "I have always aimed to be a realist, Emily. There is no use lulling myself into the belief that I will ever be able to walk without these sticks. Three physicians have examined me, all of them agreed on the diagnosis."

"But… Sir," Emily's voice wavered, "what will Temeraire say…?"

Laurence sent his sleeping dragon a fond glance. "He already knows. And he accepts. We talked about it yesterday."

Emily swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat. It was simply too unbelievable to think that Temeraire of all dragons would consent to having another captain, someone that was not his adored Laurence… and that she, born and bred to become Excidium's captain, would now be Temeraire's instead.

"He likes you enough," Laurence said gently, and for a moment Emily wondered if he could see into her soul or read her thoughts.

"Still… he will never like me nearly as much as he loves you."

"Probably not, but at least he will not be broken by having lost me, for he has not: I still intend to see him as often as I can, and if you do not mind, I would like to take him on short flights when he is off duty and read aloud to him sometimes. We could… share him. You would be his official captain, and I… only his friend. Is that acceptable for you?"

"Sir, I… I do not know… it is… too sudden… Are you sure that I qualify at all?"

"I am absolutely sure, Emily."

She felt as though an invisible pair of hands was trying to compress her gullet. "Sir… there are other… problems… that may arise."

"Such as?"

"Such as… inheritance." She felt herself blush, although she could not fathom why, she had never been the type to feel embarrassed by anything related to reproduction.

"I fear I do not follow you, Emily."

She took a deep breath, suppressing that stupid sense of awkwardness that had overpowered her for a minute. "Of course you _do_ follow, Sir. Who will inherit Temeraire after me? You might have offspring some day, and I too might have, so… will that not be a problem? Will they not… fight over Temeraire?"

Laurence gave her a wry smile. "I hardly think you should worry about that… I doubt if I will ever have an heir. Probably, if I were healthy, my chances would be better… but even like that, I might not find a woman willing to…" His flushed a bit and looked away. "I am still a convict, Emily. I have not been pardoned and never will. The only reason Wellesley graciously allowed me to stay is that I am no longer… dangerous… like this," he once again glanced at his injured left leg.

Emily shook her head. "You are mistaken, Sir. The reason why he let you stay is that you have saved him. You nearly died trying to save him. He is grateful to you."

"Still," he once again looked away, deliberately avoiding her gaze, "having a child is not an issue with me. I am too old and crippled to go looking for a wife, anyway… so never fear for that."

"I beg to differ, Laurence," Temeraire lifted his head, looking like someone who had been wide awake for a while, only pretending to be asleep. "You are not at all old, and still quite good-looking, at least as far as I can judge with a dragon's eyes. And you are not nearly as disabled as you think. You _can_ walk, even if you need those silly sticks to help you. All in all, Emily is perfectly right in saying you might have a child some day. Perhaps only by accident, but still… it _could be_ a problem if your possible future child and Emily's possible future child happened to fight over me. I do not want that. But pray tell, why do you two not have a child together? That would solve the problem."

"What?" Laurence gasped, and glanced at Emily, his face redder than the setting sun. Emily felt herself blush equally.

"Er… Temeraire… should you not have been sleeping instead of eavesdropping?" Laurence gave his dragon a reprimanding look.

"Oh, yes, but I could not help but find your conversation interesting," the dragon replied innocently. "And honestly, Emily, I do not mind you as my captain as long as I can keep Laurence too. And I would really, really be happy if I could… stay in the family."

"Temeraire, will you please excuse us?" Laurence said with a pained expression and beckoned with his head to Emily to move a little away.

She followed him in the adjacent clearing, vacant for the time being – or at least tried to pretend she was following him, as she could walk ten times quicker than he could.

"Well…" he stopped when he deemed they were out of Temeraire's earshot. "Well, Emily… I did not want to discuss this in front of him… He can be so enthusiastic about his ideas, and having to deflate them is just… painful."

"I know," she nodded with a sinking heart. Of course Laurence would want to deflate an idea like this… and he had every reason to. Trusting her with Temeraire's captaincy was one thing, accepting her as his possible mate was a wholly different matter. And she could not blame him. What man in his right mind would want a mate whose half face was mangled like hers? She tried to remind herself that he had not objected to a relationship with her mother who too had been scarred, but Jane Roland's scar had been a tenth of the one that marred Emily's face.

"Please, do not get me wrong," Laurence carried on, his voice uneasy, "his idea does sound appealing in its innocently ignorant way, but it cannot be realised, for several reasons."

_Only for one reason_, she told herself bitterly. _I am so hideous you would not even consider touching me._

"For one, even if you did not find the idea repelling, I would not want to burden you with my disability," he explained, "and two, I am way too old for you, and three, my honour is long lost and it would be horribly selfish of me to wish for you to share my dishonour, and four…"

"Pray stop, Sir," Emily held up a hand. "I do not wish to listen to any more excuses, especially not when they are shallow and meaningless."

"Shallow and meaningless is the truth that I am a cripple?" he gasped, outraged.

"No, Sir, it is not, but the fact that you are giving me excuses that do not matter _to me_ is just…" She cast around for the proper word, but failed to find it. "Why did you not just start your list of excuses with my face?"

He gave her a confused look. "Should I have?"

"Hell, yes! After all, that _is_ the real reason, is it not?"

"Honesty, I have not the slightest idea what you are talking about," he shook his head.

Emily's hands balled into fists and she felt like punching him for trying to be a goddamn gentleman even at times when complete honesty would be more acceptable than white lies.

She took a deep, calming breath, knowing it would be very unsporting to hit a man who was already standing on wobbly legs. As she exhaled, she willed her fury to disappear, and indeed it did, leaving only a strong sense of bitterness in its wake. "You are repulsed by me, Sir, admit it," she said very quietly.

"Repulsed?" he asked, his voice just as quiet as hers. "Why would I be?"

"Why?" she let out a cold little laugh. "Thanks to Waterloo, I am possibly the ugliest female in the whole of Britain!"

He edged a little closer, as close as he could without poking her feet with the ends of his crutches, and looked deeply into her eyes. There was sympathy in his eyes, but, she was surprised to notice, it was not the sort of sympathy one felt for a creature as pathetic as she felt at the moment. It was a friendly sort of sympathy, and perhaps a little more than that. There was warmth in his eyes, an almost-longing for something she did not understand. With a soft thump one of his crutches landed on the grass and he reached out with his free right hand towards her. She almost jerked away, fearing his touch would hurt her barely healed wounds, but his fingers, despite being calloused, felt soft like silk and tender like the touch of a feather.

"You are not ugly, Emily," he whispered as his thumb gently ran down the criss-crossing scars on her left cheek. "On the contrary. You are beautiful."

"Please… do not say such things, Sir. Do not say anything you do not mean…"

"Have you ever known me to say things I do not mean?"

Silently, she shook her head.

"Then you can be sure I mean it. To me, you are beautiful."

"But… surely not beautiful enough… to want to… touch me," she whispered.

"I _am_ touching you," he reminded her, caressing the side of her face.

"You know that is not what I meant by 'touch'," she said with some defiance in her voice.

"I know. And I find you beautiful enough to touch in… either way. Only… I cannot." He withdrew his hand and bent for the fallen crutch, his stiff left leg, however, would not cooperate, and before either of them could prevent it, he lost his balance, his left crutch accidentally tripping Emily. They both ended up on the grass in an unceremonious tangle of limbs.

"Well, you know just how to sweep a woman off her feet," she gave him a crooked grin, lying flat on her back with him on all fours above her.

Blushing to the roots of his hair, Laurence crawled backwards, biting back a hiss of pain as he moved his injured leg. "I am sorry, I am so clumsy. Do you see? I would only be a burden for you if we... oh, forget it," he waved dismissively.

Emily sat up, giving him a withering glance. "If _you_ are a burden, then _I_ am most definitely ugly."

"You are _not _ugly," he said firmly.

"You are _not _a burden!" she snapped.

"You are beautiful when you are angry," he said, a little bit of amusement glinting in his eyes.

"Are your eyes also malfunctioning?" she replied with a riposte.

"No, they are not."

"Then… is another part of your body malfunctioning?" she crossed her arms and looked pointedly at his lap.

"No," he reddened again. "Definitely not."

"Then? If you think I'm not ugly and I think you're not a burden, then what is keeping you from…?"

"Indeed, what is keeping you, Laurence?" Temeraire glanced over the hedge.

The captain gave his dragon an exasperated look. "Do we ever get to have a private moment?"

"Oh, sorry," Temeraire said, not looking sorry at all. "I was just curious to see how things were going…" Seeing the dark expression on Laurence's face, he heaved a theatrical sigh. "All right, I am leaving you to yourselves."

The sound of giant wings flapping confirmed that Temeraire had indeed flown away, and they were left sitting on the grass, silence thick and almost impenetrable between them. Laurence was looking at a bunch of wild flowers and Emily examined her hands in her lap, neither of them daring to look at the other.

"You know…" she said in a small voice, as though afraid that if she talked any louder, she would desecrate the holy silence, "you really would not be a burden, on the contrary, you could be very… useful. You are now retired. You would have time to take care of the… offspring." Finally she chanced a look at him, fearing that she would find him still turned away, rigid and unapproachable, but also fearing what she would see in his eyes if he happened to be looking her way: embarrassment, pity, or that trademark reservation with which he had always managed to keep his feelings at bay? For the moment she did not want him to hold his feelings back, she did not want him to hold back at all.

Their gazes locked, and there was no trace of embarrassment in his eyes, no trace of pity or self-reservation – there was fire in them, barely suppressed fire. "Could it be," he said in a hoarse voice, "that God is giving me another chance? And after all that has happened? At my age? It feels almost… too good to be true. I fear I am going to wake up and realise this is all a dream."

She reached out and grabbed his right hand. "Do I feel real?" At his nod, she carried on, "Then it is not a dream, and I am not a dream princess that vanishes when you open your eyes."

"No, you are not," he said, his voice still raspy, as though his vocal cords were protesting against the seditious thoughts his mind was turning into words. "But you can still be a princess. A real one."

With a confused half-smile, she cocked her head. "A princess, _me_?"

"Why, of course," he covered her hand with his left. "Emily, will you be my princess, and that of China?"

She inhaled sharply as she realised he had just proposed to her. "If you are doing this only for Temeraire's sake…"

"I am not doing this for Temeraire. At least… not only for him. I think I have spent too much time being selfless and… I even admit I might have had a bit of a hero complex…"

"Just a bit?" she raised an eyebrow at him playfully.

"All right, a lot," he shrugged. "And I might have… overdone it. I mean, being selfless, always thinking of others. Perhaps… it is time for me to think a bit of my own happiness."

"I couldn't agree more," she replied, her heart nearly bursting with hope, "but do you not think the Chinese would mind having a scarred princess?"

"It is not the Chinese who wish to marry you, but me, so why should we care for their opinion?" he said, some impishness she had never seen glinting in his eyes. At that moment he looked more like a rebellious youth than a veteran soldier; a so far unexplored facet of his personality. She wondered just how much there was she did not know about him, but she was certain it would be a real adventure getting to know him better.

"Besides," he went on, his lips also curling into an impish grin to match the impish glint in his eyes, "it was exactly the Chinese who kept reprimanding me for not being married and not having produced an heir yet. They can no longer complain."

"Hey, hold your dragons, Captain," Emily laughed, "the only sure thing is marriage. Who knows if we truly manage an heir?"

"I think only God does," Laurence glanced upwards, "and I seriously hope He has not arranged things like this with the intention of leaving us heirless, after all. Temeraire would be dejected."

"Then we must do everything in our power not to disappoint him," she wriggled her eyebrows, "and the sooner the better. According to the calendar, today is favourable. What do you say, your room or mine?"

His eyebrows jumped high and a slight blush spread on his cheeks. "Could it not… wait till the wedding?"

"It could, if you were willing to miss such a perfectly propitious day," she replied, rising to her feet and holding out a hand to help him up. For a long moment he stared at her outstretched hand, probably pondering whether to take it, then finally placed his right into it.

"It seems you leave me no choice," he said, and even if he meant it as a complaint, to Emily it gave the impression of exactly the contrary. "But pray give me at least one of those crutches, I should not like to lean wholly on you."

"Why, are you afraid I'm not strong enough to hold you?" she asked challengingly. "Or are you just scared this would symbolise your losing your independence?"

"I think the latter," the admitted with a bashful grin. "Call me an old-fashioned fellow, but I like to be in control of certain situations."

"Oh, never fear," Emily replied, and instead of giving him his crutches, tugged at his hand with such force that he found himself standing upright before he even knew what had happened, "I intend to leave certain… situations in your control. Here," she bent for the crutches and pushed them into his hands, "pray try to limp as fast as you can. I'm dying to see you… and feel you… in control."

He swallowed hard, reddened again, and began hobbling along. She watched as the roses of embarrassment faded from his cheeks soon to be replaced by the ones of exertion, his greying locks swaying before his eyes with every step – any man in a similar predicament would have looked pitiable and vulnerable, but not him. Emily thought she had probably never seen him more determined and more masculine. His lips were pressed tightly together, but she could not help but imagine that they would be just as soft on her skin as his fingers had been. They had not even kissed yet, she realised, and most definitely had not said any 'I love you's, but perhaps the latter was not even necessary: the way he had looked at her when caressing her face, and the way he had told her she was beautiful, had revealed just enough. She was content with as much as he could offer her for the time being, and resolute to be patient with him. And if 'all' that he could give her for the time being was a child, well, it would not be a bad start at all.

A shadow crossed overhead, and Emily looked up to see Temeraire hover far above them for a few seconds, watching Laurence struggle towards the barracks buildings, then the dragon swooped back towards his clearing with a delighted expression. Laurence had not even noticed his dragon, so immersed was he in trying to limp as fast as he could, but Temeraire had apparently seen the contented smirk on Emily's face and understood that he his wish had been granted: he was going to stay in the family.

**FIN**

**A/N: that green button saying "Review this story/chapter" is practically begging to be clicked.**


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